


Sister by Blood

by apocalypsecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, No Slash, OFC - Freeform, sister fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocalypsecat/pseuds/apocalypsecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... and a friend by choice.<br/>We all love our world's only consulting detective; but would we love his sister too, if he had one? Would she be as annoying, as genius as Sherlock? What if she appeared on the doorway to 221B Baker Street? How would that go?<br/>'Dear Christ, there's two of them.' </p><p>Rating is for the last few chapters.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of the characters, just Gabby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1\. A SISTER BY BLOOD; A FRIEND BY CHOICE

Sherlock had stolen John's laptop. Again. And was ranting on about tobacco ash on his website, The Science of Deduction. Again. And John was reading the newspaper while drinking his tea. Yes, pretty much an abnormally normal day, and so John savoured it, because there sure weren't many. He half expected Lestrade to burst in with another case and then Sherlock would jump up and down like a child, and the day would take a drastic turn.

The whole day went by, and no such drastic turn. Which was just strange, really, reflected John. He was actually beginning to worry; especially when he had come back from the store with some milk (where he also fought with the self-checkout, as per usual) and there were no bullet holes in the wall, no experiments for velocity in the air, nothing. Sherlock was being quiet and was actually behaving. Then Sherlock got a call from Lestrade. And so the drastic turn commences, John thought. Yes, there was a drastic turn. But not the expected one.

"Can't. Busy," Sherlock said then immediately hung up, before the stunned Lestrade could say a word.

"Busy?!" John exclaimed, "You've been doing nothing for the past day!" Excluding the rants about the tobacco ash, John added mentally.

"Yes, John, busy. Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock said, never tearing his eyes away from the screen, except for one glance at John and to say, "Tobacco ash rants are important," with the hint of a smile. John sighed. The mind-reading again.

Just then, the kettle clicked and Sherlock rose out if his seat. What on earth did he need the kettle for in an experiment?

"Don't destroy the kettle please, Sherlock. It would be rather annoying to have to get another one," John said.

"John, your assumptions are incorrect, as usual," John rolled his eyes. The day was getting back to normal. "I am making tea!" Sherlock exclaimed. John stared at him for a few moments. The day was most certainly not getting back to normal. If anything, it was getting stranger. Sherlock got out three cups. What?! Then, the grinning skull on the mantelpiece caught John's eye. No. Impossible. Or maybe not?

"Oh, is the skull getting tea now, too?" John said, not completely sarcastic.

"That cup better be for me; bloody freezing out there!" A voice said. Hang on; the skull was talking?! Then John realised that the voice came from the door. He turned there to see a young woman in her early twenties or so, with dark locks rippling over her shoulders and mischievous yet intelligent, sparkling green eyes.

Silence. John was stunned (how on earth did she even get in?) and Sherlock was deducing. "Well you're absolutely marvellous hosts." She said sarcastically. Suddenly, Sherlock's face broke into a huge smile and he gathered the girl in his arms and lifted her up into the air. She laughed and hugged him back. Their smiles seemed to be radiating the whole room, lighting it up as effectively as sunshine.

"Just like when we were younger," Sherlock said to her, with a caring expression. Caring was an emotion that Sherlock was capable of?! Hugging was an action that Sherlock was capable of?! John was so bemused about this; he didn't even register what Sherlock said. John thought he was the one who knew him best. Perhaps, after all, he didn't know him that well.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked the girl. John was still really confused about everything. Because quite frankly, who wouldn't? There was a stranger in the house, and even if that weren't enough, Sherlock was not being arrogant or deducing her whole life story; in fact, he was being nice. John sighed; this was probably a dream.

"With pleasure," The girl said with a grin. Now it was just John and the stranger. Well this was bound to go well.

"So …" John started. He certainly wasn't one for awkward silences.

"Don't feel the need to fill the silence, John Hamish Watson," The girl said, falling back onto the armchair.

"I don't know you. How on earth do you know my full name?" John asked. Suddenly, a terrifying thought entered John's brain. "Are you stalking me?!" John blurted out before he could stop himself. The girl laughed. John heard a laugh from the kitchen too. Was there a joke that he was missing here? Little did he know that it had been this girl's job for the past eight years to stalk people.

"No, I'm not actually," She replied.

"Okay then … Can we start over?" John said with a hopeful smile.

"Very well," The girl said, obviously trying to hide a smile. She leant back and crossed her arms expectantly.

"I'm John-" John started.

"Yes, I know," The girl interrupted with an exasperated expression. John glared at her.

"Well you're not supposed to!" He countered. He felt quite at ease talking to her like this, as if they had known each other for a long time; maybe because she was familiar. Familiar?! John had never seen the girl in his life! But there was a certain aspect of hers...

"Fine!" The girl sighed, "Nice to meet you, John!" She put on a huge, fake smile and an outrageous posh, tea and scones accent. Scones like 'bones', like they say it at posh tea parties.

"Okay, okay, forget that. What's your name?" John resigned.

"Gabrielle," She replied.

"Oh …" John said. He was expecting something more … unique, like Gwen or something. Sherlock came back with three cups of tea. Gabrielle smiled.

"You sound surprised, John. Perhaps it's how normal the name is. Or perhaps you're referring to the tea. From what I can recall, Sherlock isn't the best housewife." Gabrielle said with a smirk at Sherlock.

"A thank you always does the trick, Gabrielle," Sherlock replied, placing the cup in her hands. John almost snorted. So the phrase 'thank you' hadn't been deleted.

"The trick to what Sherlock? The 250 types of tobacco ash?" Gabrielle retorted with a mocking smile. Sherlock sniffed in disdain.

"243-"

"Yes John; fortunately for me, my parents were not stoned when they decided my name. The same cannot be said for my brothers," At the last line, John was confused. Why randomly bring up her brothers? And why was she smirking at Sherlock, who was looking rather hurt?

Then, it hit. Of course! That same dark, curly hair. The same stance. The same annoying attitude. And the fact that she knew everything. It all added up. And it is true, what she said; seriously, Sherlock? Mycroft?

"Dear Christ!" John exclaimed.

"What?" Gabrielle asked.

"You're his sister?!" He shouted. Gabrielle gave him a look to say, "Oh, well done."

"John you are hurting my eardrums," Sherlock simply mentioned.

"Oh, well, ex-cuse me!" John said loudly, "I didn't even know you had a sister!" Then, he sighed, "You know what. I'm not going to … I'll just be here drinking tea if you need me,"

"Sherlock. I feel hurt for the lack of introduction," Gabrielle said with mock sadness. Sherlock did not reply.

"So … um … why are you here?" John asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He also wanted to ask 'How long are you staying? Are you staying here? But that seemed like too much, and he didn't want to make a bad first impression by asking too many questions.

"I am back from America. Yes, I will be staying here. I don't know for how long. And, by the way, I've been talking to you for the past five minutes; you've already made a first impression," Gabrielle replied, both to his spoken question and mental questions.

"Oh, so you do it too," John sighed.

"Do what?" Gabrielle asked with a mask of innocence.

"The mind-reading," John said.

"It is not mind-reading. It is simply mere observations," Gabrielle said as she continued to sip her tea. The link between her and Sherlock was definitely obvious now.

"So how were the States?" Sherlock asked.

"Boring. I worked with the CIA a bit. They're all stupid. And boring. They don't think. Most of them lower the IQ of the whole street whenever they open their mouth; and whenever they are in possession of food, they act as if they never will be again." Gabrielle remarked. Well she certainly didn't keep her opinions to herself.

"Come on Gabrielle. There must have been something that interested you in America," Sherlock said but he was smiling.

"Oh, yes. Their accents. I asked for some water three times and they didn't understand. I had to put on a stupid Texas accent just so they would understand that I didn't want a coke. So, anyway, I am back! It's been a while …"

"Did they find you?" Sherlock asked quietly. Gabrielle simply nodded. John didn't ask; he knew he wouldn't get an answer. And considering the sombre look on both of their faces, he didn't want to. The silence hung in the air.

"Um …" John was being very awkward indeed. And simply thinking about the situation being awkward, made it even more awkward. So John found it necessary to induce a conversation as soon as possible. Simultaneously with these thoughts of awkwardness, John realised that his earlier question had never been answered.

"You never did answer my question; why are you here?" John asked Gabrielle, who stared at him for a few moments, as if deciding whether she could tell him or not. A second after the question had been asked, John was already getting annoyed. For God's sake! She was going to stay in this bloody apartment with them for who knows how long and she wouldn't even tell him why?! Sherlock's parents were crazy to make more than one offspring.

"Let's just say that I ran into a bit of trouble," Gabrielle answered evasively.

"So I'm not to be trusted with the whole truth?" John asked.

Before Gabrielle could answer, the blaring sirens cut through the noises of the wind and reached the trio. Gabrielle jumped out of her seat to stare out of the window.

"I must bring you good luck, Sherlock," Gabrielle said, grinning widely. John sighed. Well it wasn't particularly good luck for the person who had just died.

"Yes, Gabrielle. You must," Sherlock replied, returning the grin, already grabbing his coat and scarf. Gabrielle did the same, swallowing the last of her tea in one, rapid gulp.

"Sherlock, you need to come. Supposed suicide," Lestrade appeared at the door frame.

"Will be there. Send the police cars away, will you? They're annoying," Sherlock replied. Lestrade nodded and ran down, his feet echoing against the wooden floor. Gabrielle punched the air and Sherlock high fived her. John had never seen him like this. Well, he had, but not with somebody else as crazy as him.

"John! You coming?" Gabrielle shouted as brother and sister ran down the steps like crazy and ecstatic five year olds rushing off to dinner. John sighed. He would never know whether he would be trustworthy in her eyes now. So he might as well go.

"Of course."


	2. Some Abuse Their Right to Stupidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle meets Donovan and Anderson - let's just say that she doesn't appreciate their ignorance and behaviour towards Sherlock.

They arrived at their destination a few minutes later. Gabrielle was practically jumping with excitement and leaped out of the black cab before either Sherlock or John could twitch a muscle.

"Hang the stockings and put up the decorations; it; is; Christmas! I hope this is an interesting case. I've had enough boring ones for a life time," Gabrielle said as they slid under the yellow barrier. John wondered what 'boring' was from her point of view.

"Oh, freak's here," A woman said as she glared at Sherlock.

"Ah, Donovan. How nice to see you too," Sherlock replied.

"As well as his loyal dog," She said, sneering at John, who was rolling his eyes. Gabrielle scrutinised her: obviously insecure; has probably been working in the police for a while-

"Oh, and a new one!" She said, glaring with distaste at Gabrielle, who raised a questioning eyebrow at Sherlock.

"Gabrielle, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Donovan, Gabrielle," Sherlock introduced. Donovan simply gave him a side glance.

"Look, let me give you some advice, Gabrielle," Donovan started. John sighed. He had already heard the 'advice' and he only hoped that Gabrielle had the wit of her brother to be able to deal with someone like Donovan. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." Gabrielle stared at her for a few moments. It was obvious she was trying not to laugh.

"Just tea for me thanks," Gabrielle said.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Donovan asked, hands on hips. Meanwhile, Gabrielle's eyes flitted over her like a pianist's hands over the keys.

"Yes. I have a very good idea of who you are," Gabrielle said, then, catching Donovan's glare, added, "Oh! You want me to prove it? With pleasure!" Gabrielle grinned and clapped her hands together.

"Here we go," said Sherlock. John was confused. Unless …

"You have been working in the police force for the past six years. You're not happy with your job, but it's not like you want to go be a waitress somewhere so you stick it out. You're depressed, insecure, and the only way for you to feel happy without recreationally taking drugs is your affair," Gabrielle said.

"Affair? What is wrong with you?" Donovan glared.

"Have you told her about Donovan?" John asked in a surprised whisper to Sherlock.

"Not a word," Sherlock replied as he gazed at Gabrielle with … pride?

"Well firstly, you haven't even flinched to how I said you're insecure, you were immediately onto the part about the affair. Also, your hair hasn't been brushed this morning–" Gabrielle started.

"That's nothing to go on. There are days when I just don't brush my hair," Donovan interrupted.

"Please, you colour co-ordinate your skirt and bra – yes, your shirt is almost transparent; oh, I wonder why – of course you brush your hair every single day. You have rings under your eyes so you've obviously had a long night but your constant grin before seeing us proves that you didn't mind that. Oh, my.

"Your clothes have a trace of coffee, but you don't look very awake so that means you must have a coffee after work. So obviously, you've worn the same shirt two days in a row, which means you haven't had the opportunity or time to change it.

"And the moment I said 'affair' Anderson came over here. Hello there! How are you? Oh dear Christ!" Gabrielle said while smelling the air, "I said that, because if all of that explanation wasn't enough for your vacant little pea-sized brains, then the fact that your supposed 'friend with no benefits' is wearing deodorant for women should seal the deal. Unless, of course, he's just coming out of the closet. In that case, Donovan, I suggest you clear out now, because judging by his hair and stance, it was about time too. Ah, deodorant. Sure; it won't let you down," Gabrielle winked.

"Oh and of course! Your knees," Here, Gabrielle gave a small laugh, "Well I wouldn't have thought you would like to be a housekeeper."

"What the hell has this got to do with anything?" Donovan asked.

"Well, your knees are scraped; and," Gabrielle put on a look of fake innocence, "Why else would you be scrubbing the floor?"

"Are you implying anything?" Anderson asked with indignation, while Donovan was lashing out.

"How dare you?" She screamed. Lestrade came to cool things down, but Gabrielle, unfortunately, did not realise that he was the one with the slightly elevated IQ.

"You, on the other hand, have been in the police force for a very long time. Oh and you really should cook yourself actual food. Ever heard of a frying pan?" Gabrielle asked.

"How–" Lestrade started.

"The rings around your eyes are probably constant, which means you never get enough sleep. Considering your confident stance when you're walking you have a pretty important job, so you've been here long enough to get a promotion. As for the ex-wife, you obviously-" John scoffed, "-live alone, you have a look of loneliness in your eyes and you've been wearing the same shirt for the past week. A picture of your kids is peaking out of your pocket, so a divorce. You stiffened when I mentioned the children; she has custody–"

"Gabrielle," Sherlock warned quietly. Lestrade's whole body was rigid, his mouth was wide open, but his eyes; they seemed so shocked it was pitiable.

"And your glare of distaste at–" Gabrielle continued.

"Gabrielle." Sherlock placed his hand on her arm to stop her.

"What?" She looked at him with confusion.

"He actually has an IQ that is slightly elevated," Sherlock said. Gabrielle knew that Lestrade must be a good friend – that's as close to a love declaration as Sherlock gets.

"Ah," Gabrielle said, nodding, "Right. Um ... Sorry."

"Anything else you wanted to say?" Lestrade's voice was rather croaky, as if his throat were very dry.

"Well actually, I was going to say that from your glance of distaste at Donovan and Anderson, the reason for the divorce was an affair–" Gabrielle stopped mid sentence as she realised her mistake, "I mean. No. I was not going to say anything. At all."

"Right," Lestrade said with a small smile.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Gabrielle asked with genuine curiosity.

"Timing, Gabrielle," Sherlock whispered to her. John snorted. He had been observing the whole situation from the angle of pure amazement, but these words brought him back to Earth.

"Yes, Sherlock, you're one to talk," John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, John, I was talking. We talk, it's what we do …" Sherlock seemed genuinely confused, "What are you on about John?" John simply put his palm on his forehead with a sigh. Yes, Sherlock was certainly 'spectacularly ignorant', and not only about the solar system.

"That's enough chat girls, let's go in," Lestrade brought everyone back to the mission at hand, but with one more curious glance, he got side-tracked. He pulled Sherlock to the side before entering the house.

"Who is she, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

"No one," Sherlock waved it away.

"Well obviously I'm someone Sherlock, otherwise I wouldn't be here," Gabrielle said airily as she walked past the pair. Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed. When Lestrade didn't, he called back,

"Lestrade! I'm sure we could figure it out, but tell us where we're supposed to be going." Lestrade sighed and went after Sherlock and the girl before it was too chaotic to cure.

John caught up with Gabrielle.

"How on earth did you know that he lives alone? And why did you advise him about food and cooking?" John asked.

"Pot Noodle dust on his shirt," Gabrielle explained, or so she thought.

"What?" John asked. Gabrielle sighed; not that she wasn't used to having to explain everything she deduced, but that didn't mean it wasn't slightly annoying. But with John it was okay; firstly because he was used to this through Sherlock, and secondly because he wouldn't laugh at her.

"Multiple stains of Pot Noodle on his shirt. It has probably been the only thing on his loneliness diet ever since the divorce. Besides, I've lived alone for the past eight years; I've had my fair share of Pot Noodle," Gabrielle replied with a smile. John laughed at that.

Going into the house, they passed Donovan.

"Freak," She sneered at Gabrielle, who was very tempted to launch a fist into that face.

"You know, Sally always has the least original insults in the world," Here, Sherlock sighed, "Besides, I guess these boring, regular humans have the right to stupidity …"

Gabrielle stared after Donovan for a few moments.

"She abuses the right to stupidity."


	3. Think, It's Not Illegal Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the italics are for when she's thinking, like in Sherlock when he's deducing and it comes up on the screen.

As they went in, Gabrielle noticed the Claude Monet 'The Water Lily Pond', _old painting, new frame = original = rich._

_So, death of the wife of one of the richest people in the country; the papers must be all over it._ If only she could get her hands on a newspaper. Lestrade held his hands up in surrender as he followed Sherlock, John and her into the house. Ink. _Ink on his fingers._ No calluses; _not an artist._ Detective Inspector; _avid newspaper reader._ "Hey Lestrade – that is your name, right?" Gabrielle didn't stop for confirmation, "Can I see your newspaper?" She said, holding out her hand.

"My – how the hell did you know I had a newspaper?" Lestrade asked, putting his newspaper in her hand.

"It was obvious," Gabrielle replied simply, Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"She's even worse than Sherlock," Lestrade muttered beneath his breath. Gabrielle would have heard, but she was too busy looking at today's headline:

**'SUICIDE OF THE FAMOUS'** with the picture of the now dead woman.

_Original title_ , she thought dryly, then threw back the newspaper at Lestrade, who fumbled around with the multiple, flapping pages. Sherlock and John were already inside and waiting for her, so she left him to it.

Gabrielle looked at the crime scene a little while Sherlock deduced the woman's whole life to John, What a show off. Then again, that's what the Holmes are best at.

"... unhappily married for thirty years ..." _Ah, the classic 'dirty outside, clean inside' ring gig._ Her eyes flicked around the room, from Chagall's 'Violin and the Goat' painting, _rich husband confirmed_ , to the will on the table, _husband died_ , with the reading glasses next to it, _two weeks ago_ , to the little post it on the note on the board – _died of cancer_. She opened the drawer and found a diary. It had a cornered page – _appointment; important one at that too_ , before she could flick to the page, something else caught her eyes. Pictures? Gabrielle frowned at that: they were black and white. There was only one recent photograph, _obviously not a daughter, so probably a niece_. A look of enlightenment flicked through her eyes and a split-second later her hawk-eyes were back on. _So, widow and dead children. Well there's a one way ticket to death._

Then, Gabrielle moved on to the body itself, looking around, oblivious to anything else. Coat is wet, _outside two or three hours ago_ ; dirt under shoes, _garden_ ; shoes are pumps, _estate garden_ ; umbrella not used, _didn't stay long. Conclusion: meeting with someone in the garden. But who? Maybe the one with who she was having an affair-_

Then, Anderson walked in, breaking her track of thought. Sherlock sighed dramatically whereas John simply pinched the bridge of his nose in anticipation of the flying insults about lowering IQs to come.

"It was obviously the niece who did it–" Anderson started, leaning against the doorway.

"If thinking was like having an affair, would you do it?" Gabrielle asked genuinely.

"Are you implying anything?–" Anderson started, his face going red.

"Thank you for the input," Gabrielle said sarcastically and slammed the door in his face. Sherlock, John and Lestrade were all staring at her; after all, this was déjà vu. "What?" She asked to their bewildered faces, "I felt my IQ dropping by the second when he was in here."

Sherlock recovered the quickest, although he was smiling slightly and continued to deduce the life story, whereas John and Lestrade took a bit more time.

Suddenly, Gabrielle walked back to the door; _footprints._

"What?" Lestrade asked. Gabrielle looked up, confused.

"What are you looking at?" She asked defensively.

"You said 'footprints'," Lestrade specified. _I said that out loud? Hm._ Gabrielle frowned slightly then returned her work. She heard a far away voice complain about never getting answers, but then she was looking at the footprints: not pumps – not dead woman. _Size ten – man's footprint. Fancy shoes, someone with access to the house and with whom she was having an affair ..._ Gabrielle eyes widened with enlightenment and she stood up suddenly and flicked through the diary scanning the pages until she found what she was looking for. She snapped it shut.

"... she's no longer in touch with her children and–" Sherlock was still showing off to John, and that was okay before, but not now that he was wrong and not now that they were done here.

"Wrong," Gabrielle finally turned around, with a sardonic smile on her face. After all, it wasn't every day you saw the great Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, wrong.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow as he got over himself.

"Deaf and wrong? My, my Mr. Holmes, you must be losing your touch," Gabrielle smirked, "Her children are dead. Look at the pictures: no recent ones; they're all black and white. The only recent one is the niece," she explained. Sherlock snapped his head to the table with the pictures on it.

"Yes, no recent ones as you put it. They're not dead. She's been having an affair for twenty years," Sherlock said with a look at Gabrielle. It clearly said, 'My territory. Do not trespass'.

"Yes, because the affair explains everything about her children, of course!" John muttered and sighed.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you're trying to persuade yourself that her children aren't dead so that she 'died in happiness'. But I do know better: Holmes and sentiment don't mix," she replied to Sherlock while shaking her head, replying to both his look and his statement; his stupid statement at that, "Still wrong."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock tilted his head slightly.

"Definitely so," Gabrielle said as she stood in front of him and crossed her arms, holding her ground. Suddenly, Sherlock leaned back and breathed out a little with a smile. "Has your IQ lowered without me to challenge you? You're much slower," Gabrielle added when she noticed this. John and Lestrade were now looking at the exchange with wide eyes. Then Lestrade shook his head.

"Okay, I don't know who you are, but stop bickering because we've only got a minute left," Lestrade interrupted.

"Good job I don't need that minute," Gabrielle said with a brief smile.

"So who did it?" Lestrade asked.

"Sherlock, fill him in once you're over the fact that I am right ... and you're wrong," Gabrielle then walked out, pleased with the exit. Barely a minute later, there was a commotion.

"Sherlock! This is a police investigation and a crime scene! Behave your own age!" Gabrielle heard Lestrade shouting at him, then storming out, "Sherlock is being a five year old. Tell me what you got," He ordered.

"It's actually 'what you have got'," Gabrielle said with a nod. Lestrade closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, "The count-to-ten trick doesn't work. Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you, Detective Inspector. I'll be off now," Gabrielle said as Sherlock and John came out; it seemed that John was scolding Sherlock, _obviously about his behaviour judging by his right eye._

"So, who are you?" Lestrade asked. Gabrielle looked at him: slight hesitation before 'who', not confident in what he's about to say; confident stance earlier, now slumped, _self-conscious_ ; hand scratching the back of his head, _embarrassed_ ; staring at the ground; _avoiding eye contact. In conclusion, he wants to know what I am._

"And by that you mean, 'what'," Gabrielle told him. She really did mean it as a question at first, but what was the point in asking if she already knew she was right? And besides, Lestrade's shocked face was confirmation of her deductions.

"Yeah, okay, what are you?" Lestrade asked, slightly exasperated.

"I'm annoying and I'm brilliant; deduce away," Gabrielle said with a smirk after looking at Sherlock. Then, Lestrade was about to ask another question.

"The butler, Detective Inspector," Gabrielle said before Lestrade could open his mouth.

"The – the butler?" Lestrade, confused as ever.

"Yes, did you not hear me the first time?" Gabrielle asked.

"He has a clear alibi! With a witness!" Lestrade said.

"I assume the witness was the gardener?" A rhetorical question since she did not stop for an answer, "Yes, a witness with minimal income that would be as malleable as gum in terms of conviction and morale if money had anything to do with it. Everybody lies," she ended. Lestrade tried to say something, but no words came out.

"Afternoon," Gabrielle said with a nod and a smile.

And so, Sherlock, John and Gabrielle, the soon to be terrific, or rather, terrible, trio, departed the crime scene.


End file.
